Birth of a Ziro
by Pteraclaww
Summary: My first attempt at a Pokémon story. Didn't want it to be the stereotypical hunky dory Pokémon master quest story. So, no humans included, and this is a bit more dark and gritty. Also, Pokémon names are in Japanese translation. I'd edit that in future.


Hey there. My first story here under this account. Pokémon, most likely a one-off. The format is probably going to look annoying, but if it does, then I'll know not to do it for the next time. Please review.

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The wind rustled, whistling through the tall, thick trees, giving the already dark forest an eerie feel. The only thing that gave life to the otherwise dead forest was a small pack of six Komatana trudging noisily through it. Their leader, a Kirikizan, was at the head of the group.

Ziro stood perfectly still as the pack passed him by, taking note as they did. Riak, the Kirikizan, was a battle-hardened warrior. As far as their pack was concerned, Riak was a living legend. Their territory had expanded enormously since he became their leader. So much had it increased, in fact, that they were now pushing a full-scale assault on the neighbouring Zuruzukin tribe.

The pack passed Ziro by obliviously, with the exception of one, who froze momentarily to look over to where the Zoroark stood. Stopped in her tracks, she turned to face the Zoroark who stood within a meter from her. Shaking her head, she turned back to join the other six in her group.

Ziro turned and fled into the forest, tearing between the trees on all fours. The Zoroark had briefly considered tackling Riak, the head Kirikizan. He would certainly prove to be somewhat of a challenge, at least. However, eliminating the leader would disorganise the group, and the neighbouring Zuruzukins would likely move in for the kill, reclaiming their territory.

No, Ziro didn't want them all dead. If there was one thing he learned over his years, it was that the punishment should suit the crime. Miri, the Komatana who suspected she saw something, was their second-in-command. She was a malicious b*tch, but hell if she wasn't good at her work. Taken on by Riak as an apprentice, she was, so far, living well up to the job. However, she wouldn't be able to take proper control of the pack until she evolved.

The Komatana pack had quelled their rival's numbers. In their last invasion in particular, Miri had hurt the Zuruzukin tribe badly, killing three and blinding another with a deep slash across the face as they retreated. That Zuruzukin's wounds would scar. His eyesight would never recover. He would spend the rest of his potentially long life unable to fight, unable to properly defend himself.

The Komatana's own numbers were fewer, but they fought with a burning passion, trained since birth to kill, and to revel in it. They just did what they were made to do. They didn't know any better. Ziro almost pitied them. However, like them, the Zoroark just did what he was made to do. The only difference was that Ziro did know better, though that changed little. Riak deserved to lose his student. The Komatana deserved to lose a potentially great leader. And Miri deserved to reap what she had sewn.

Ziro scouted out the Komatana camp, crouching silently on one of the strong tree's higher branches. He couldn't just march right in to the camp. Trying to convince the six others that nothing was wrong whilst simultaneously killing the seventh might be possible, though the Zoroark wasn't overly eager to find out. If he were to get caught, then he could probably escape, though would then never get to finish his work.

He could probably improvise while they were sleeping; he doubted that they would keep too many awake to keep watch while the others slept. The Komatana were great fighters, yet that also led to a sense of stubborn pride; they would never expect somebody to have the nerve to attack them at their own camp, in the heart of their territory. Ziro would just have to prove them wrong.

Miri didn't sleep very soundly that night. She couldn't shake the feeling that something she couldn't place was dreadfully wrong. She first got the feeling on her way back to the camp with the rest of the pack. She had thought she had seen something out of the corner of her eye, yet when she investigated, there was nothing worth noting, besides her gut instinct warning her of danger. The feeling hadn't left her since.

Later that night, Miri woke with a start to the sound of the cries of her fellow Komatana as they fled the camp. Jumping to her feet, blades at the ready, she scanned the area for danger, prepared to defend herself. To her dismay, she found nothing but the body of Riak, her master, lying face-down on the forest floor, a pool of blood growing larger below him.

Miri rapidly took off after the rest of her pack. Whatever had taken out Riak would have to be something powerful. Miri doubted that she could take it out on her own if Riak had failed to do so. Perhaps he had simply been caught off-guard? If so, with the help of her fellow Komatana, she could at least wear the attacker down by overwhelming it in numbers. Then, she could kill it.

Whatever had happened, and whatever was going to happen, she knew that she needed the rest of her pack with her. Komatana stayed together by nature, they worked and fought together, they lived and died together. Miri needed to catch up with her fellow Komatana and organise them before they could be picked off one by one by the attacker as they fled.

However, as Miri ran, this proved to be no easy task. Her pack were splitting up, running remarkably fast in steadily different directions. Miri took after the largest of the groups, breathing heavily. This intruder had just killed Riak. This intruder needed to suffer. This was one battle that Miri couldn't afford to lose.

Ziro ran through the forest on his hind legs, Miri hot on his tail. Glancing back every ten metres or so, it didn't take long before he had successfully led the Komatana far from her base camp. After another hundred metres, the camp wouldn't be within earshot any longer.

Another two hundred metres onwards, the Zoroark had found his predetermined spot; a clearing among the trees where nothing dared grow. He came to a sudden halt, turning around to see Miri make her way into the clearing.

Miri tore through the trees to reach the clearing, dismayed when she found nothing but the body of another Komatana lying on the ground. This one was not bleeding so badly, however, so with a quick glance around, Miri ran over to check the injuries of her fallen comrade. The second she made contact with the body, however, it evaporated into nothing but thin air. Startled, the Komatana jumped back and rapidly looked around for a possible explanation for what had just happened.

Before she had time to reach a conclusion, however, Miri heard a terrible scraping noise coming from behind her. She whipped around toward the Zoroark, sharpening his claws together. No sooner had she the time to process the information than Ziro had blinded her with a deep slash across the face.

Miri stumbled backward, crying out in agony. Her eyesight would never return. Her wounds wouldn't get the chance to heal. She would spend the rest of her potentially short life unable to fight, unable to properly defend herself.

Ziro brought his claws together again, sharpening them some more as Miri staggered around clumsily, slashing the air blindly and calling out in a voice that was slurred from her injury. Nobody else would hear her cry for help. Nobody else was injured. Nobody else had even left the camp.


End file.
